


Write it Down

by spidersomnia



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depressed Peter Parker, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, i'm totally ignoring endgame cause i'ts making me sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidersomnia/pseuds/spidersomnia
Summary: ''This feeling started a few months ago. Peter was visibly tired all the time and no one could get him to open up. Usually, this wasn't a problem for Aunt May, as she could always talk things out with her nephew over a cheesy movie and snacks. Peter had never been the kind of person to hide feelings and people close to him were starting to worry. All this lead to the therapy session that would change his coping mechanisms for the better.''or Peter Parker becomes depressed after the warehouse accident and copes by writing in a journal(set after Spider-Man: Homecoming and before Avengers Infinity War)





	1. Get Better Kid

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this on my drafts for months but I needed to post something after endgame broke my heart :)  
> This is basically my diary through my comfort character but I haven't written a fic in years  
> Hope ya'll like it <3

_Heroes are not supposed to feel like this._

Peter wrote, not thinking twice about the words he was putting on paper.

_Am I even a hero?_

The boy lingered for a while, going over what he had written. Expressing himself was slowly becoming easier.

_It's getting late now, so night Karen._  

He finished, before closing his journal and storing it in the bedside table's drawer. He reached for the light switch and turned lights off, preparing himself for another restless night.

This feeling started a few months ago. Peter was visibly tired all the time and no one could get him to open up. Usually, this wasn't a problem for Aunt May, as she could always talk things out with her nephew over a cheesy movie and snacks. Peter had never been the kind of person to hide feelings and people close to him were starting to worry. All this lead to the therapy session that would change his coping mechanisms for the better.

''Have you ever tried to write what you feel?'' The lady asked, pen in hand, ready to analyze the boy's words.

''Writing? N- no, I'm not really the creative type.'' Peter stammered, obviously nervous.

He had agreed to try a session at the school's therapist, as his aunt advised him to, but now that his heart was beating a little too fast and his leg wouldn't stop bouncing, he was starting to regret it.

''Oh really? I could swear you were.'' She nodded at Peter's periodic table shirt so he would notice, getting only a nervous chuckle out of him.

''You should try it. It's okay if it doesn't work, we can always find another way.'' She paused to look at the boy sitting across from her: his eyes were glued to the floor. She continued ''I can see that you aren't comfortable enough to share your thoughts yet, so writing them down may help.''

''Okay.'' Peter agreed, quietly.

He left the room a couple of minutes of chatting later. His heartbeat sped up even more when his phone buzzed against his leg. He reached for it, expecting a text from Aunt May.

''How did it go kid?''

Peter's eyes froze after reading the name at the top of the screen.  _Mr.Stark_. May and Tony had grown closer after she learned about his nephew's secret identity and since then Tony had been a constant in their life. But that didn't mean Peter was used to receiving personal text messages from Iron Man himself.

''Good.'' Peter replied, smiling as if Tony was watching him through the phone. ''She said I should start writing.''

''Uh I never would've thought of that.'' Three dots danced under the text and Peter anxiously waited for Tony's next message. ''I'm glad you're seeking help. See you, Parker.''

''See you Mr.Stark.'' Peter sent and waited for a new message. The phone didn't buzz again. He knew Tony was always busy but it was always nice to chat, no matter how short the conversation was. He felt like he could trust him.

 

Peter got home later than usual. He walked into the small apartment and made his way towards his bedroom, passing by the kitchen to quickly let Aunt May know he was back.

''Tony swung by, he dropped off something for you.'' She informed the boy and pointed at the dining table, not taking her eyes off the food she was cooking.

Laying there was a notebook. Peter picked it up and let his fingers brush against the dark brown leather cover. A small spider symbol was inscribed in the bottom right.  _Very smooth_ Peter thought. After contemplating the journal Peter untied the leather wraparound strap and slowly opened it, afraid it would damage the binding. The first page had a handwritten note on it.

_Hey Peter. This is for you._ _I hope you like it, I think it may help you get started. Get better kid._ _-Tony_

He hated when Tony bought things for him, he wasn't worth it. He would be better off buying things for someone who would stick around longer. But this felt different. Peter was smiling. Truly. The notebook felt like a symbol of hope, of healing. He wanted to get better, he really did: he dreamed of waking up motivated and fresh once again, unlike in the past couple months.

''I thought it was sweet of him.'' May's voice interrupted Peters thoughts, as she served dinner in front of him. 

''Yeah.'' he replied, not looking up from the journal. He carefully stored it in his bag, ready to eat.

 

He opened up the journal and wrote his first entry that night, after some minutes of staling and rereading Tony's note.

_My name is Peter Parker. I've been feeling tired for a while. I've been having trouble concentrating and-_

His hand stopped.

It felt wrong, empty, much like the lies he had been telling people. He remembered what the therapist said to him: he should treat the journal as his confidant, his best friend. Pour his feelings out without fear of anyone finding what he had written. Peter closed his eyes and sighed, preparing himself for a second try.

_My name is Peter Parker, you may also know me as Spider-Man. You may think Spider-Man has no problems, but you're lying to yourself if you do. Ever since the spider bite,_ _I've had this all this pressure to become a savior, someone people can trust. And at first, that was my goal. I bettered myself every day, going out for patrol and upgrading my gear so that New York would feel safer. But a few months ago, something happened._

He stopped once again. Maybe writing about it was too much. He decided to skip the part that still sent shivers down his spine and continued to write.

_All the motivation I had started to disappear, and going on patrol became a burden. Same with school, going out with friends, watching tv, building Lego sets; suddenly all the things that I used to enjoy just didn't make me feel. And it sucks. I want this to go away, I want to go back to normal._

_I can't save anyone._

_I_ _'m not strong anymore._

Peter crossed out the word ''anymore''. In his mind he was never strong, he only convinced himself that he was.

He lost track of time by the second page. When he finally took a break to glance at the digital clock on his bedside, it read 2:47 am. 

''Shit.'' He swore under his breath. He didn't know how time had slipped away so fast. This always happened to him, his sense of time was all over the place.

He wanted to wrap the entry up, it felt wrong just to leave it mid-thought. An idea popped up in his mind. Naming the journal after a familiar name was a childish idea, but he knew he would grow attached faster that way. He looked around his room trying to find inspiration until his eyes set on the Spider-Man suit hanging in the closet.  _Karen_. It was the perfect name.

He would sometimes talk stuff out with the A.I during patrol breaks. It wasn't much but it was enough to prevent him from bottling it all up inside. Deep down Peter knew Karen couldn't truly comfort him but it was nice to know that someone (or something) was listening. 

_It's really late now, I gotta go. Thanks for putting up with my depressing rambling._

Little did Peter know that that would be the first of many late nights he would spend writing away in his journal. 

_Night Karen._


	2. Tape 148

Peter woke up wishing he didn't. 

His mouth tasted awful, his head was aching and his body was way too tired to move: all signs of a great day to come.

He always set up his alarm hours before he had to leave the house. Falling asleep wasn't hard, but his constant nightmares turned the alleged peaceful hours into anxiety-filled minutes. He also knew (though he didn't want to accept it) that he struggled to get up every morning. So after staring at the ceiling and trying to swallow the knot in his throat for what seemed like hours, Peter finally gathered the strength to stand up and face whatever that day had prepared.

His feet touched the cold ground and he tiptoed to the bathroom, only stopping to grab the first outfit laying on the pile of clothes covering the desk chair. Peter got off his pajamas and moved into the shower.

Hot water ran down his skin, just the way he liked it. Bit by bit he started to relax; lowering his shoulders and letting the water hit his face. It didn't last long until a stinging sensation spread across Peters body, making him quickly turn the water off.

"Still?" He whispered, mostly to himself, as he examined the scar tissue that adorned his skin all over; souvenirs of the night he crawled out of the destroyed warehouse. Memories of being stuck under the wreckage flashed in his mind, suffocating him each time he recalled the screams, the cold and the pain. 

He remembered how bad the fresh wounds hurt after he freed himself. Months later they started hurting the same. Pre-accident Peter would've been concerned but for now, he just brushed it off and put on an oversized sweater that would hopefully cover up all the marks.

His scarred body moved towards the bathroom door, sighing deeply before walking through the door frame. It was a Friday. He just needed to get through the day.

 

The school day went by slower than usual. Peter sat in his usual seat close to the back of the bus. After getting tired of looking through the window, the boy reached down and pulled the familiar journal out of his bag. Opening it always made him feel comfortable, as he had made it into his own little safe space: the inside of the cover was plastered with polaroid selfies of him and Ned, surrounded by childish Avengers stickers he had brought at the convenience store. Photography was another hobby he had abandoned over the past months, but he was sure to keep the photos that reminded him of happier times.

Peters hands unconsciously leafed through the journal until it set on the last page and the inside of the back cover. This side was less clattered, a single picture stood out against the dark background. The only portrait Michelle ever let him take of her. She always rambled about how horrible she looked in pictures but Peter cared to disagree: MJ's eyes were shining as the sunlight kissed her skin and she had a smirk on her face for once. The picture was simple but Peter couldn't help himself but smile back at it. Michelle and Ned felt like beacons of light in the darkness he was lost in.

Peter's smile slowly faded into a neutral stare as he turned the pages back to the last one he had written on and slipped a pen out of his bag.

_I wanted to skip school today, but I didn't. Aunt May paid way too much for me to go there, she's expecting me to be successful. Fell asleep in physics, I can see my grades sinking._

Peter fiddled with the pen.

_I can't concentrate with all this shit in my head. Ned asked me what was up again. He still cares, still tries to figure out what's wrong with me; I wish we could spend more time together. I miss the times when it was just the two of us against the world. I miss the times when I was just a normal guy, just normal Peter Parker. No superpowers, no Avengers, no villains, no Spider-Man._

_I wish I was never bitten by that spider._

The bus stopped abruptly, making Peter's belongings scatter across the floor. He instantly closed the journal, picked them up and ran towards the front door.

''I'm so sorry,'' he said, apologizing for the mess he had caused.

''Just hurry up kid.'' the bus driver shot in a threatening tone.

Peter did as he was told, quickly stepping off the bus's platform into the calm dirt road that leads to the new Avengers facility.

Since May found out what the Stark internship truly was, she agreed to let Peter spend some of his weekends here, under Tony's care. It was like a dream come true. Shame that all of Peter's dreams had turned into nightmares. It wasn't that he didn't like the compound, he loved interacting with his childhood heroes, and learning how to become his own hero; it was that for every lesson he learned he also noticed how hard it was to be an Avenger. Tony was fairly open about his traumatizing experiences and sometimes Peter caught a glance of Rhodey's limping or the gashes on Vision's face after a battle.

It wasn't easy and Peter didn't know if he was cut out for it.

Still, he made his way into the intimidating building, where Happy greeted and lead him to his more-than-familiar room.

 

Studying always seemed to take Peter's mind off things. Learning new things was always satisfying but that evening Peter couldn't focus on anything. It felt like his head was full to the brim with static. All the numbers on the textbook seemed to merge and none of the equations made no sense to him anymore.

Suddenly someone knocked on Peter's door, and the static seized.

''Hey kid, just got home.'' Tony's voice announced from the other side. ''Can I come in?'' He had learned to respect Peter's privacy over time, something the teen truly appreciated.

''Yeah'' Peter replied.

Tony walked into the boy's room and looked around: the blinds were closed all the way down, blocking all the sunlight; clothes were scattered around everywhere, there were piles of books on the floor and Peter's collection of dirty dishes was starting to concern him. Tony knew he could program one of his cleaning androids to tidy up the mess but each time he brought it up, Peter promised he'd clean it himself.

He sat on the boy's bed and gestured for him to sit by his side. Tony was focused on one particular pile of textbooks when he finally confessed what had been pestering his mind for the past few weekends.

''This is becoming too much.''

''What is?''

''All this.' Tony answered, motioning at the mess surrounding them. ''Look around Pete, this isn't you.''

''You don't know me that well.'' deep down Peter knew he should regret those words but weirdly enough his heart didn't feel heavy.

''I'm just saying'' the man continued, pretending to ignore Peter's words. ''I can get you help. Professional help, not just your school's therapist.''

''I don't need it'' the boy lied. ''I'm fine''

''I want you to know that I'm here for you. You don't need to do this alone''

Peter felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Tony was looking at him, trying to make him believe his words. He refused to look back, but a small fake smile appeared on his face. Satisfied enough Tony squished Peter's shoulder and got up. Before leaving he looked back to the boy sitting on the brim of the bed.

''I'm here for you kid.''

 

After dinner, Peter gave up on schoolwork. He lay on the bed on his old phone, refreshing the same page over and over again, with no luck of finding new posts.

He tried to only write from time to time, as his therapist advised. Tried. Peter felt drained as always, and as always he reached for the journal, ready to write a few more lines.

_When you've been doing this for as long as I have, you start to get comfortable. Death threats are part of my routine. I don't seem to care if they're real anymore, as long as they don't put any of my supposed loved ones in danger. Getting home after being shot and waking up fully healed doesn't surprise me anymore._

His head felt like it was about to explode and his eyes were weighting. Confessing felt right (before he did something stupid again).

_Sometimes when I'm working on my web-shooters I don't fill them up all the way, hoping they unexpectedly fail. Something to scare me, make my heart clench, to make me feel alive._

Peter stopped writing. Halfway his hand had started to shake and his handwriting had become incomprehensible, even to him. He never acknowledged this, it was subconscious at this point; writing it down felt like admitting it to himself.

It would look like an accident, and no one can be disappointed in an accident, right?

That's what it all came down to: disappointing everyone. Letting people down was Peter's greatest fear. Everyone was counting on him. Aunt May trusted him to be the best student he could, his friends knew he would always be there for them, and Tony believed he could keep the city safe. But balance isn't easy when you have this kind of power and responsibility weighing you down. New York had their eyes on Spider-Man at all times, judging all his moves and weaknesses.

Peter felt like weaknesses were all he had.

He threw his head back and tried to regulate his breathing. He could feel the knot in his throat: the wish to breakdown, to cry all the tears he had bottled up throughout the years.

He didn't though. He called it a night.

After writing down the familiar night Karen he calmly asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to dim the lights.

''Your stress levels are higher than normal, Mr.Parker.'' the robotic voice echoed through the room.

''Is there something I can do for you?'' it asked.

''I don't think so.'' Peter lied. He hated that he couldn't even vent to it.

''Should I play Tape 148?''

Peters breath caught in his throat. Tape 148. He had forgotten about it. He used to watch it during his first nights at the compound when he wasn't even sure he belonged there.

''Play it.'' He whispered, a little ashamed of his decision. He didn't need the video to calm him down anymore, he was older, even if it was only by a few months. But as soon as he agreed a wave of relief washed over him.

''As you wish, Mr.Parker.''

Peter heard the projector turn on and a faint image appeared on the wall in front of him. The image soon started to move. The footage was filmed from high up, and Peter could see the crowd of people running from a hoard of robots. You'd expect Iron man's security footage to be this erratic. Between them stood a child, unmoved by the panic or the machine that loudly approached him. Now that the camera was closer Peter could see the child clearly. It was a boy, about 8 years old, wearing none other than an Iron Man mask. Adamant, the kid raised his hand, pointing his pretend Iron Man blaster at the robot, as it pointed its guns at him. The camera approached the child faster and faster until it set beside him. The real Iron Man arm appeared in-frame, blasting the robot out of sight. The footage lingered on the boy for a while, and a familiar mechanized voice assured him.

''Nice work kid.''

The video cut to black, darkening the quiet room. For a moment Peter could swear he felt something inside him though he couldn't pinpoint it. Nostalgia? Faith? Anger?

Purpose?

That was it. He had just witnessed the moment that made him decide who he wanted to be. A hero, someone who helps people and makes their day better. A sense of meaning filled his heart as he stared at the folded suit in his bag.

''I cut it for you, you used to watch that part repeatedly.'' F. R. I. D. A. Y spoke over the sound of Peter's ragged breathing ''Do you want to watch it again?''

''I'm good F.R.I.D.A.Y. Thank you.'' He said, not really paying attention. The suit stared back at him.

''I'm glad I could help, Mr.Parker .'' The A. I paused, making sure the requests were done.  
''Goodnight.''

The lights finally dimmed, but Peter didn't lay back down. Instead, he moved through the dark, towards the suit that Tony had offered him when this all started. He carefully slipped on the mask and in a low voice, he whispered.

''Up for patrol?''

''Always.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow I'm really one of those stereotypical fic writers that don't post for months and then post from absolutely nowhere and I am so sorry  
> You know what I'm not sorry about? Hurting your feelings with this chapter (okay maybe a little)


	3. Ready

Going out at night is a stress relief for many people. The cold weather and the slightly quieter streets of New York do wonders clearing your mind. But not for Peter. At this point, patrol just meant sore muscles, a ripped suit and wounds to clean. New York was losing its charm, or perhaps, Spider-Man was. The growing sound of police sirens filled his head, and he felt grateful for a moment, as his mind was an untangled mess desperately waiting for something to entertain it. 

With each swing, he felt weaker and weaker. He knew he could turn around and go back to the compound, lay on his bed and wait for another day. But he also knew that there would be no home if he didn't protect the city. Tape 148 kept him going, splitting his mind between whatever was making him repeatedly think let go, let go, let go and his mantra.

''With great power comes great responsibility.'' 

These words stuck with him throughout everything. The sirens got even louder, reminding him of the night he last heard them from his uncle. A night of hatred, desperation, revenge, and gunshots.

Peter snapped out of it as he realized the shots were coming from beneath him. He swang one last time before landing on top of a lamp post and asking Karen to listen in to what the armed man was saying.

''Put it down!'' The man screamed pointing his handgun at a girl. The girl was holding a backpack close to her chest. She looked no older than 18 even though her face was covered by a hoodie and the night's darkness. 

''I'm not letting it go, it belongs to me, you creep!'' The girl answered bravely but obviously on edge.

''This is your last chance.''

Peter waited no more, as he heard the cocking of the gun. He jumped up in the air and stretched his arms, pressing down on his web-shooters. The webs wrapped around the man's gun but not before a gunshot echoed across the alley. 

He heard the gun sliding across the floor and a feminine groan. Peter webbed the man up, not really paying attention, his mind focused on the sound of the firing gun.

''You stay there.'' the hero threatened before turning around and hastily reaching for the girl that was curled up against the stone wall.

''Miss are you okay?'' He kneeled down and carefully pushed the girl's shoulder to get a closer look at her face. 

_Michelle._

Peter gathered himself not to call out her name. His breath fastened and his nails dug deep into his suit as if he was trying to wake up from one of his nightmares. But MJ was still in front of him, hoodie stained with blood and her face, once framed by sunlight in Peter's picture, was now growing cold under the flickering street lights.

And her eyes were growing vacant.

''Say something.'' The boy demanded. He couldn't fail again, he couldn't, _he couldn't._ His head was throbbing much like it did when his spider-sense acted up. Peter didn't react though, he just continued staring at Michelle with glazed eyes. 

As much as he wanted to deny it, she was out cold. (She couldn't be dead. No. She wasn't.) New York was right. Spider-Man was useless; just a sidekick.

All of a sudden Peter felt a sharp pain in his heart. He groaned and looked down: the tip of a knife was piercing through his chest, dark blood starting to run down his stomach in contrast to the bright red of his suit.

He felt it again. And again. And again. The same acute pain puncturing his skin. His reaction was delayed, and when he realized what had happened his body was already on the ground.

''Fancy meeting you here, Spider-Boy.'' The man he had previously tied up whispered in his ear, spreading the alcohol scent of his breath. ''You're so predictable, of course, you would save her.'' 

The man moved in front of him and Peter caught a glance of his boots. 

_Metal claws._ But that wasn't possible, was it? Adrian was in jail. 

_Wasn't he?_

He heard the man walk away, the sound of metal slowly fading, leaving him laying on the cold ground. He faced the wall unable to move, Michelle's silence ringing behind his back.

''Bye Peter.''

He sobbed as the pain spread across his chest. He had never been in such a critical state and he didn't know the full capabilities of his fast healing. That didn't scare him though. What did was that he didn't seem to care.

Peter could feel the blood soaking his suit. It was warm, it felt good, it felt... comfortable? Like a hug on a rainy day. The pain had turned into comfort and he could feel his whole body numbing. 

Maybe this was for the best.

Aunt May wouldn't have to feed another mouth, Ned would finally find a best friend who he could spend time with and Tony could stop pretending he cared.

He wouldn't have to hear Mj blame Spider-Man for not helping her.

It was definitely for the best.

Peter would die that night in that alley and he was ready.

The corners of his vision started to blur and the backstreet became darker and darker as his breathing slowed down. Peter fooled himself into thinking this was a night like any other; he had just finished his journal entry and was ready to sleep. His eyes closed, managing to whisper something before letting the numb feeling take over him.

''Night Karen.''

Metal scrapped the ground. An angel-like shape loomed over him; it's blue halo filling the place with bright light.

Peter squinted his eyes trying to make the figure out, slowly realizing the halo laid on the angel's chest, surrounded by armor.

''Mr. Stark?''

Iron Man crouched, carefully turning the boy so that he was facing the night's sky. Peter strongly gripped Tony's hand as if it was the last thing he had to hold on to. The man was moved by this; Peter wasn't big on physical affection since the accident. He felt like he couldn't hold it in anymore. The iron suit retracted into his chest.

Peter didn't notice for a while but Tony's arms had wrapped around his fragile body.

''Breathe, just breathe kid''

''Michelle she's-''

''It's okay Pete, the girl is safe.''

He shuffled painfully so that his face was buried into Tony's chest, tears staining both their clothes. Peter could feel Tony's breathing this way, and he synchronized his own with the soft raising and lowering of the man's chest. Slowly the knot in Peters' throat untangled and his senses came back to him. He shivered as he finally felt the cold breeze of the night and Tony pulled him closer, knowing that was the only way he could help at that moment. The boy calmed down even more as his mentor's heartbeat rang in his ear.

Tony noticed.

''Yeah underoos, I do have a heart''

Peter chuckled, regretting it soon after when he coughed up the blood that was blocking his throat.

''Don't move, help is coming.'' The man assured him, carefully shifting so that he was sitting, Peter's body still cradled in his arms.

''Is it really?'' 

The inside of Peter's eyelids seemed to change color from dark blue, to green, to blood red, to black.

''What do you mean?''

''Are they gonna help me?'' Peter asked, his voice muffled against Tony's chest and growing weaker by the second. 

''Of course, Pete you're gonna be-''

The boy knew he would regret his next words, if he lived to talk to Tony again. He coughed once again and tried his best not to slur them together.

''I wanted this.'' 

Peter felt Tony flinch and mutter something but he was too tired to pay attention.

''I couldn't bring myself to do it, so somebody else did it''

_What a coward. What a goddamn coward._

''It was gonna happen anyway.''

His eyelids grew too heavy and the colors stopped shifting. Tony's worried words seemed to blend with the muffled sirens in the distance. 

_I was ready._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I feel like I have to say sorry each time I post a chapter? Well, that's a whump writer's life for you :')  
> Tell me what you think tho I never wrote something quite like this,,


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